


The Heart of the Shriekhawk

by sinestrated



Series: Ballads [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din is stupid, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: A misunderstanding threatens to destroy Din and Paz’s budding relationship.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: Ballads [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628653
Comments: 15
Kudos: 208





	The Heart of the Shriekhawk

**Author's Note:**

> In which they finally get together, but a lot of dumbfuckery happens first.
> 
> So this is officially Part 3/5 in this series. Part 4 is done, just needs some polishing.
> 
> Thanks, btw, to everyone who has commented and left kudos thus far! I'm pretty terrible at responding to comments, but please know that I read and appreciate all your feedback, and I'm glad you're all enjoying this little fandom romp!

Din looked down at the little green-skinned child half-submerged in the bathwater, then at the dozen objects floating lazily in the air around them, and sighed.

Parenthood was hard.

Of course, he’d known what he was getting into when the little creature first revealed their abilities, giant mudhorn roaring in frustration as it galloped through empty air. And most days Din looked at his child, at the way they giggled and smiled and captured the hearts of everyone around them, and felt a surge of pride and endless love, this foundling he had rescued and brought into his clan, this bright, gentle soul with powers he didn’t understand but who seemed only to want to use them for good. Over a year ago, when Din Djarin had walked into that secret Imperial bunker seeking only an easy bounty and a quick beskar payment, he never would have imagined he would be here now: looking after a foundling of his own, the leader of a small but solid clan of two.

Yet somehow it had happened. And while Din would never regret his decision all those months ago to dismantle the entirety of his carefully-constructed existence and risk it all for one curious, gentle-eyed creature, there were some days, like today, when he really wondered what the fuck he was even doing.

The child made a happy gurgle, and all the objects abruptly tumbled to the ground. A small tin cup bounced off Din’s helm, which the child seemed to find absolutely hilarious. Din glared. “You did that on purpose, you little womp rat.”

The child just giggled. Din shook his head and reached down to lift them out of the tiny washtub. Minor concussion notwithstanding, he wouldn’t trade this for the world. This little kid, with their ridiculous ears and adorable laugh and odd affinity for one-eyed frogs, had become the foundation of Din’s world, the shining source of all his happiness.

A glint of metal caught his eye in the corner, and he smiled. Well. Maybe not  _ all _ his happiness.

As the kid chirped and wriggled about in their freshly-laundered robes, Din walked over to the shelf next to his rack and gently picked up the single beskar ingot. He’d earned the piece of storm-dark metal from his last bounty, a kidnapper who’d run off with a New Republic senator’s child, and as he turned it slowly in his hand the ingot gleamed in the light, seeming to wink up at him as if privy to some secret. And, in a way, it was. 

He knew the other Mandalorians in the Covert talked about him. For all their fearsome history and legendary status throughout the galaxy as a warrior race that conquered through blood and death, Mandalorians were actually giant fucking gossips on their downtime. From relationships to jobs, from scandals to secrets, you could bet whatever you whispered in one corner of the Covert would have traveled across the entire goddamned star system by midday. 

So yes, Din had heard the rumors about why he continued bounty hunting even though, with their generous supply of beskar, the Covert no longer required it. They said he loved the thrill of the chase too much to give it up. That he owed some Guild big-timer a huge favor and was struggling to repay his debt. Or his personal favorite: that he was actually using these trips off Thalkikk not to chase down errant criminals but to visit some buxom, sensuous lover on a distant planet. That he was thinking of marrying her, that he’d already knocked her up, that he was going to remove his helm and leave the Creed behind all because she smiled so prettily at him...

This last one always made him chuckle. While there was no sexy female alien waiting for him on a distant planet, he  _ was _ trying to build a future with someone he cared about. That’s why he still took bounties, but only the ones that paid in beskar and had no Imperial ties. He wanted the precious metal clean, untainted by sordid history. 

His mission was too important for anything less.

As if on cue, a sudden rap sounded out on the door to the living unit, solid and purposeful. Then a moment later, a voice: “Din’ _ baa! _ ”

The child’s ears perked up and they cooed and waved a hand. The door snapped open as if flung, and Din barely had time to shove the ingot into his back pocket before a shape shot past him, laughing. “ _ Vod’ika! _ ” four-year-old Lyrr Vizsla cried, swinging the child happily around as they giggled. “You’re greener than yesterday! I wanna be green too! Din’ _ baa _ , do you know how many droids make purple?”

Din blinked. “Uh...”

But Lyrr was already barreling on, chattering about what they’d had for breakfast and what she’d name her pet Sarlacc and how Jied was the absolute  _ meanest _ big sister in the galaxy except, of course, when she made cookies, and Din looked to the large armored figure hovering in the doorway and shook his head. “You gave her wakesynth again, didn’t you?”

Paz sighed. “I may have forgotten my cup on the counter this morning, yes.”

“You’re getting senile.”

“You’re getting to be an asshole.”

“ _ Buir! _ ” Lyrr clutched the child to her chest with a look of absolute horror. “That’s a bad word!”

And Din couldn’t help but laugh.

They headed out a few minutes later, meandering down the halls toward the school room. Jied was off doing...whatever she did when she wasn’t annoying Din, and Avi had an earlier class, so it was just the four of them going about the business of another day at the Covert. Din wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jagriin three months ago had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, but one good thing had come out of it: sitting across from Paz as the older man talked quietly about his dead husband, Din had finally come to realize that, like it or not, his definition of family now extended beyond just the child. It was Jied, who despite her ruthless teasing still slipped him bits of poetry and hints about the spices and seasonings her father missed in their pantry. It was Avi who plopped on Din’s bed to read his latest novel, and Lyrr who played nonsense games with the child beneath the table.

And it was Paz. Paz who took over Din’s thoughts during the day and outlined his dreams at night. Paz whose low, rumbling laugh could make Din’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Paz who, with his stubbornness and temper but also his kindness and resilience and endless well of love, had somehow managed to worm his way into Din’s heart, becoming the center of Din’s universe, the glowing core around which all his thoughts and feelings and very soul settled in a solid, breathless orbit.

Din Djarin hadn’t planned to fall in love, and especially not with someone like Paz Vizsla. But then again, he hadn’t planned to become fast friends with a former Rebel shock trooper, or grieve the loss of a goldhearted assassin-turned-nursedroid, or rescue and then adopt a little green-eared foundling either. The universe worked in odd ways, but for once, Din thought maybe it was finally turning in his favor. The tall, blue-armored Mandalorian walking next to him, talking quietly as their children played together up ahead, was more than proof of that.

”...rough day,” Paz said then, and Din blinked. Shit.

“What?”

That earned him a pointed look, though he sensed Paz was more amused than anything else. “I said Sal seems to be having a rough day, so I’m gonna check in on her after lunch. Means I’ll be late for our spar.”

Oh. Sal was another Mandalorian in the Covert, who along with her wife Runi had arrived on Thalkikk several months ago in response to Avi’s bounty. She’d become fast friends with Paz, both of them heavy infantry, but then Runi had abruptly died in a hyperspace malfunction two weeks ago. Sal had crumbled, with Paz doing damage control ever since.

Din swallowed, looking up at Paz. If something like that happened to him, if one day Din woke up and Paz just  _ wasn’t there _ , vanished without a trace, leaving only a raw, bleeding hole in his heart...

“Din?” Paz’s voice dropped low with concern as he stepped in close. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” It came out a little rough; he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. I understand.”

Paz tilted his head. “If it’s weird that I’m spending time with Sal—”

“No!” Because gods, to fault Paz for simply trying to support someone else through their grief...Din would never. It was, in fact, just another thing he loved so desperately about the other man: that he  _ cared _ so goddamned much, even when he didn’t have to, even when others might look at his formidable exterior and expect someone rough and callous. The fact that Paz was none of that, that he could be a great leader and a fearsome warrior and still love like he’d never been hurt before...Din took a deep breath and laid a hand on Paz’s arm. “No. It’s fine, Paz, really. I just...I respect you for this. That’s all.”

Paz hummed, low. “All right.” Something warm brushed Din’s chin just beneath his helm. “Later then,” Paz said, and turned and walked away.

Din couldn’t even answer, skin tingling as he fought the rising blush. This, too, was new: Paz  _ touching  _ him, fleeting, casual, like it didn’t make Din’s heart soar like it had its own Rising Phoenix. Mandalorians by definition kept physical contact to a minimum, anything more intimate than a friendly handshake or slap on the back generally reserved only for partners and family members, so Din had actually thought it an accident when Paz’s gloved fingers first brushed his arm during a conversation two months ago. But then it just kept happening: a warm palm sliding over his bicep after a solid spar, a gentle shoulder bump when they stood together in the forge. Something was growing between them, something Paz not only seemed to recognize but to encourage, and Din wouldn’t let this opportunity slide. After all the shit the universe had put them through, it was the least they deserved: this little bit of happiness and  _ right _ , just for the two of them.

“Din’ _ baa! _ ”

Lyrr was hovering next to the school room’s open door, waving frantically as his child tottered over to a group of other kids also on their way to class. “You have to help me hunt the ghosty lizards later!” she shouted, at a decibel high enough to make him wince. “You have to promise! Promise, Din’ _ baa _ , promise!”

What the hell were ghosty lizards? “Uh, sure, Lyrr’ _ ika _ . I promise.”

She giggled and vanished into the classroom. Din shook his head, unable to help the smile. 

It was shaping up to be a great day.

#

The Razor Crest needed some maintenance, so it was coming on afternoon by the time he made it to the forge. Blue flames hissed as shadows danced along the walls. The Armorer knelt next to another Mandalorian, helping him fasten a new beskar cuirass, so Din took a seat in the corner, turning the ingot slowly over in his hands.

He hadn’t seen Paz since the morning, but that was neither here nor there. The older Mandalorian actually had a lot of jobs around the Covert, from maintaining their weapons to fixing broken equipment to teaching trainees, not to mention now trying to help Sal through her grief. Sometimes Din wondered how he managed to fit all that in around wrangling Lyrr, tutoring Avi, and making enough food to satisfy Jied’s truly monstrous appetite. 

Well. If he got his way today, maybe he’d have a chance to find out firsthand.

The Armorer sent the other Mandalorian on his way with a whispered instruction. Din bowed his head as their leader crossed back to the hearth. “ _ Ijaa’lor. _ ”

“Din Djarin.” The Armorer set a fresh block of beskar on her sinking plate. “You see the fruits of your labor. The tribe owes you a great debt.”

“All debts are settled. I’m proud to have brought such prosperity to the Covert.”

“We are grateful for it.” With measured precision the Armorer lowered the plate, flames hissing as the beskar slowly liquefied. “I see you’ve brought the payment from your last bounty. Yet our coffers don’t require replenishing.”

And how surreal it was to hear those words. That they were no longer bereft and skirting the edges of poverty and starvation, but indeed so rich with the legacy of their ancestors that they almost didn’t know what to do with their wealth. Some days Din still woke up and wondered if the whole thing hadn’t been just some crazed fever-dream, and any moment now reality would come crashing back down and the beskar would be gone and he and Paz wouldn’t be...

He took a deep breath. “I have come to ask a favor. And, perhaps...permission.”

She hummed, but didn’t turn from the hearth. “Clarify.”

“There is, ah...one among us who has not taken advantage of the beskar from Jagriin.”

“Yes. Given the circumstances under which it was acquired, I certainly can’t fault Vizsla for his reticence.”

There was no censure in her tone, yet Din winced regardless. It wasn’t his fault what had happened in Paz’s past, he reminded himself. All he could do now was look to building Paz’s future. “I wish to complete his armor,  _ ijaa’lor.  _ If you will allow it.”

“Hm.” The Armorer set her tools down and turned to face him. Firelight glinted off her helm, playing over the unreadable blackness of her visor. “You speak of replacing his  _ aliik’gam _ .”

Din swallowed, suddenly all too aware of the pauldron set over his right shoulder where his signet lay. It was arguably the most important piece of a Mandalorian’s armor after his helm, the central point connecting him to his clan, his deeds, and his history. 

It was also, conveniently, the only piece of Paz’s armor that was still blue-painted durasteel.

To replace that for Paz would be significant, to say the least. It would, essentially, announce his intentions not only to the other man, but to the tribe as a whole. There would be no going back from this, no way of playing it off as a joke or friendly camaraderie. If he did this, he was committing himself—and Paz, and his child and Avi and Lyrr and Jied—to something much bigger than himself.

And yet, Din found he wasn’t afraid. Paz wanted this just as much as he did; his behavior over the last few weeks made that clear. All Din had to do was allow this thing between them to blossom.

In the end, as with all things when it came to Paz Vizsla, it was easy.

The Armorer nodded. “I find this acceptable,” she said, and Din, head spinning with warm relief, knew she wasn’t talking about the armor. “Fetch Vizsla and bring him here. I will prepare my tools.”

Din bowed, swallowing against a suddenly-constricted throat. “Yes, ma’am. Th...Thank you.”

“It is no bother. And Djarin?” 

He paused at the door and turned. The Armorer watched him, helm tilted just slightly. “I am happy for you both,” she said, “but also quite relieved that the pool Jied started will finally make a payout.”

The pool Jied had...? Oh, Lothir’s tits, Din was going to kick her ass later. “Um. As you say, ma’am.”

He might have imagined it, but he could swear the soft puff of breath through the Armorer’s modulator was a laugh as he spun and hurried out of the forge, face flaming.

#

It wasn’t hard to track down Paz. As a function of his size he was noticed everywhere he went, so Din only had to ask a couple of the other adults before he found himself making his way down a side hall near the very back of the Covert, close to the storage rooms where they kept their ammunition and other supplies. Here the rest of the tribe faded to nothing but distant echoes, the walls around him quiet and dark, and Din tried his best to steady his breathing as he hurried forward. The hardest part was over; the Armorer had, for all intents and purposes, given him her blessing. Now all he had to do was ask Paz.

And it wasn’t as if Paz would say no. He was the one, after all, who continued accepting Din’s beskar even though he could have just as easily finished his armor with the supply from Jagriin. He was the one who came by Din’s unit every morning so they could walk their kids to class together, and spent fourteen uncomplaining hours replacing the Crest’s engines last month, and rather awkwardly shoved a brand-new cape in Din’s face one day while growling something about  _ that  _ kurr _ moth-eaten rag hanging off your shoulders, Jen’Issik. _

He was the one who stayed up all night with the child when both they and Din caught the Silvakian flu, who made Din laugh till he cried with his bawdy jokes, who touched him gently in quiet moments of privacy. He was the one who’d trusted Din with Kian’s memory, and who Din in turn trusted with the tiny being most precious to him. Paz could easily have walked away from Din a long time ago, could have found someone smarter and stronger and more worthy of the Vizsla name. The fact that he not only chose to stay but treated Din and his child like something important and precious and worth protecting...it meant something. It meant everything.

Low voices up ahead and Din slowed, cocking his head. He recognized Paz’s gravelly rumble, followed shortly by a female baritone, shaky and soft. Sal. Paz must be checking up on her as promised.

He peeked carefully around the corner. Sure enough, the two Mandalorians standing at the end of the hallway were familiar: Paz’s dark blue silhouette took up most of the space, with Sal’s broad-shouldered figure almost equal in height. Din’s heart tightened watching the recent widow: Sal looked like she was ready to die, armor filthy and unkempt and almost hanging off her thin frame. Her left vambrace was missing, revealing bare skin covered with a mess of black twine, and as Din watched Paz sighed and reached down, picking at the knots with his gloved fingers.

“It’s not—you gotta restart it,” he said, and Sal laughed, humorless.

“What’s the point? So I fucked up the mourning sleeve just like the rest of my life. What else is new?”

“Sal...”

“It just...” Sal made a broken noise, everything about her on the verge of collapse. “It  _ hurts _ , Paz. It hurts  _ so fucking much _ , and how is weaving this shitty thing going to make it better? Runi’s not coming back! She’s gone and I can’t...I d-don’t know what to do...”

She crumpled forward, sobbing. Paz held her close, gently stroking her shoulder. “Yeah, I know. Gods, Sal, I’m so sorry.”

“How do you do it?” Sal’s voice was all the galaxy’s hopelessness and despair, a once-proud warrior now reduced to a lost little child. “How do you lose the love of your life and just...go on living like nothing happened? Like she didn’t make up your whole fucking world, like you can’t even breathe if she’s not around?”

Paz hummed but didn’t answer. Din swallowed. He could only imagine what was going through the older Mandalorian’s mind right now: Kian, left behind in the tunnels, watching them with a shaky smile and eyes full of endless love. The glint of a vibroblade, sharp with betrayal. A burning house on Jagriin, a mutilated Mandalorian laughing with high-pitched insanity.

How much did it hurt, for Paz to watch Sal going through what he himself had barely survived so long ago? And what did it mean about his shining, golden heart that he swallowed back that pain and chose to help her anyway?

Sal groaned then, a listless, broken sound, like someone giving up, someone ready to surrender. “It doesn’t happen a second time, does it?” she whispered, shaky and thick with tears. “After your first. You never love again, do you?”

Paz dipped down to rest his chin atop her helm, and sighed. “No,” he answered. “You don’t.”

And Din’s world crumbled.

#

He couldn’t remember heading back to the ship, just knew that in the next moment he was stumbling up the Razor Crest’s ramp. His head spun and he grasped the nearest strut, gasping for breath around the awful pain in his chest.

Paz had...Paz had said...

His throat tightened and Din hissed, clawing at his chestplate as fresh splinters pierced his heart. Gods, it  _ hurt _ . Why had he gone eavesdropping in that hallway? Why had he allowed Paz so close in the first place?

He’d been so stupid. Of course Paz didn’t see him as more than a friend; why would he, when he had memories of Kian—his husband, his only love—filling his heart already? Din could see it now, all the signs he’d misread over the last few weeks. Paz spending so much time with him: their kids were friends, so why not? Buying Din gifts and cooking him food: he owed Din his life, not just from the jungle but several other times, so it was natural to repay the debt however he could. Brushing hands or bumping shoulders every once in a while: he was a big guy and the halls of the Covert were narrow. These things were bound to happen.

And of course he’d accept Din’s beskar. The supply from Jagriin was tainted with awful memories, but his armor still needed upgrading. So who better to do that than his quiet, loyal, and completely misguided  _ friend? _

Issik’s balls, he’d been so fucking blind. Drunk on infatuation, hanging off Paz’s every word and passing touch like a desperate girl with a crush, he’d completely missed the truth. Paz didn’t love him, didn’t feel anything for him but respect and gratitude. They weren’t meant for each other. They weren’t family.

“Din?”

He stiffened at the voice. Oh, no. Not now, please, not now...

Heavy bootsteps approached, pausing at the bottom of the ramp. “You okay?” Paz asked, cocking his head. “Saw you headed this way, thought we were gonna spar. But you look...sick.”

He stood in the warm circle of light just outside the ship, stance relaxed, armor neatly polished as usual. Like this was just another day. Like he hadn’t just got done shattering Din’s heart into a million pieces.

And Din couldn’t help it. There was only so much hurt a soul could take before it grew spines, before poisonous things took over with their sharp edges and pricking thorns. “What do you care?” he growled.

Paz stiffened. “Uh, well, I—”

“What I do is none of your fucking business, Vizsla,” Din snapped, even as he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. “So why don’t you just fuck right off?”

He saw it then: the slight dip of Paz’s chin, the tightening of his shoulders. “What the hell, Din,” he rumbled, dangerously low.

But Din just glared, everything inside him hurting and small and so very, very angry. What good would it do anyway, to bare his heart to Paz now? The other Mandalorian had already taken Din’s love and stomped all over it, and he’d be damned if he was going to give Paz another chance to break him.

“Just leave me alone, Vizsla,” he snarled, forcing himself to straighten and start back up the ramp. “Go back to your perfect little children and your perfect little family, they’re what’s important to you anyway so why would you care about anyone else?”

Paz took a step onto the ramp. “Listen, asshole—”

And Din couldn’t stop it. All the pain balled up inside him and ripped out of his mouth like something monstrous, something too horrible to control, something meant to hurt and cut and kill. “Maybe if you’d done it right the first time Kian would still be here!”

Silence. Like a gunman after the blaster bolt had been fired, Din watched, horrified, as Paz stared at him, everything about him suddenly stiff to the point of breaking. Oh gods, he hadn’t meant to say that. Lothir have mercy, he hadn’t meant any of it, no, oh gods, he had to take it back...

Then Paz turned away. Even from this distance Din could see he was shaking, whether from fresh grief or trying to keep from murdering Din outright, he couldn’t tell. “Fuck you, Djarin,” he said, and somehow the flatness of the words, the utter lack of feeling was a hundred times worse than the loudest yell. “We’re done.”

Then he turned and marched away, and half of Din ached to reach out, to run after him and beg forgiveness because he hadn’t meant any of it, he was just so hurt, Paz,  _ please _ ...

The other half just wanted to get the hell out of here before he shook right apart.

Heart crumbling, Din turned and fled into the ship.

#

He didn’t even care where he went, just punched in the first coordinates the navicomputer would accept and hit the thrusters.

As the Crest thrummed around him, the spinning light-tunnel of hyperspace plastered across the viewscreen, Din hunched over the pilot’s chair and breathed through the pain. Shit. Fucking piece of shit— _ why _ had he said that to Paz? Why had he gone after the one thing forbidden to him, taking the vulnerability Paz had so carefully entrusted him with and shattering it to pieces? Now they were broken. Now they were done. He’d be lucky if Paz even spoke to him again, rather than murdering him on sight.

But—gods—it just hurt  _ so much. _ He’d thought they were headed somewhere, had wanted so desperately...and then everything had just collapsed. That shining future with Paz had never existed in the first place. He’d built castles in the sky, and Paz had shot them down with the precision of a ZF-29 combat sniper.

Something solid pressed against his back pocket. Din reached down, drawing a shaky breath as he lifted the beskar ingot. The flickering light from outside danced across its smooth dark surface, teasing him. Mocking him.  _ This is what you could have had, _ it seemed to say, sneering, smug.  _ This is how foolish you were. _

“Fuck!” He spun and hurled the ingot as hard as he could. It hit the wall next to the ladderwell with a sharp  _ clink!  _ like a gunshot.

And the ship squeaked.

At first Din didn’t even hear it, too wrapped up in the raging storm of fury and guilt. But then something shifted, seemed to roll over with a soft  _ thump _ , and he stiffened, hand flying to his blaster. 

There was something in the storage locker.

Instincts and training kicked in and Din drew his blaster and stepped carefully forward. It couldn’t be his child; they were still at school. And no one else had access to the Crest. Had someone infiltrated the Covert? Had Gideon finally managed to sniff him out and sent someone to kill him? Joke was on them, then, because Din Djarin was  _ pissed _ , and more than ready to rip something apart.

Taking a deep breath, he hit the door lock and sprang back, blaster at the ready—

And the world stuttered to a halt.

The little dark-haired girl curled atop a box in the locker looked up and squealed. “Din’ _ baa! _ ”

“L...Lyrr.” The name tripped over his tongue but Paz’s daughter didn’t seem to mind, ignoring the blaster completely as she swung off the box and darted forward to hug him.

“I’ve been waiting forever, Din’ _ baa! _ ” she cried, grinning up at him. “We gotta hunt the ghosty lizards, remember?”

Oh. Oh, gods. Din stared down at her and suddenly couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Why was she here? Why was she smiling up at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars, when he’d just gone and destroyed everything between him and her father, ruining any hope for a future? Why did she still love him after everything he’d done?

In front of him, Lyrr’s smile faltered, then vanished. Her eyes grew very wide. “Din’ _ baa? _ Are you okay?  _ B...Buirok? _ ”

His whole heart seized up at that.  _ Buirok.  _ Bondfather. Lyrr had addressed him as if he and Paz were married.

“ _ Buirok! _ ” Lyrr rushed forward, trying to cushion him with her little body as his legs gave way beneath him. Her hands flitted over his helm, panicked. “ _ Buirok,  _ no, don’t cry, p-please stop hurting!” 

She was sobbing now, high-pitched and distressed, so Din grabbed her and squeezed her close, choking through his own tears. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but here she was and he was going to hold on to her as long as he could. As long as Paz and the universe would let him.

As the cold darkness of space swirled by outside, blank and unfeeling, Din held Lyrr tight and let himself break.

#

Night had rushed onto Thalkikk, silent and swift, by the time Din brought the Razor Crest gently down in the hangar they’d attached to the Covert. Thalkikk’s evenings were usually warm but it had been an unseasonably cold spring, so as the ramp lowered the cutting breeze bit into his skin even through the armor. Next to him Lyrr shivered and hunched close, tiny fingers curled into his pant leg.

A single lone figure waited for them at the bottom of the ramp, outlined in harsh white by the bright hangar lights. Din’s stomach dropped and he tightened his grip on Lyrr’s hand even as the little girl stiffened. “ _ O-Ori’vod. _ ”

Jied Vizsla was outfitted for deployment: full weaponized vambraces on her wrists, Rising Phoenix on her back, electropole tucked vertically in between. Her helm dipped just enough to acknowledge her sister. “Lyrr. Get away from him.”

Lyrr hesitated, shrinking back against Din, but Jied’s voice sharpened, brooking no argument. “Now!”

Eyes shining, the four-year-old detached herself and tottered down the ramp to her sister. Jied reached down and gently touched her face, her shoulders, her back—checking for injuries, Din realized, breath going a little short. Jied thought—Jied thought he would actually  _ hurt _ Lyrr, as if he could ever...

Satisfied at her sister’s well-being, Jied straightened back up and nodded at the hangar exit. “Go home.”

Lyrr gulped. “But I wanna—”

“You’re in enough trouble already!” Jied snapped. “So go home  _ right now! _ ”

The little girl’s face crumpled, and she turned and fled into the darkness. Din swallowed. “You...You didn’t have to do that.”

Jied’s helm swiveled slowly to fix on him, heavy with intent. “ _ You _ ,” she hissed, “have no right to tell me what to do.”

Din flinched. He’d known something like this was coming but it didn’t stop the pain, sharp as a punch to the gut. The last time they’d talked, Jied had laughed and joked and snuck sweets to the little one. Now she stood facing him, fury radiating from her like a sun, as if she were imagining in this very moment ripping him apart piece by bloody piece. He’d destroyed them too, the relationship they’d been building together. He’d destroyed everything.

“Jied,” he began, but she shook her head.

“You don’t get to talk to me,” she snarled, “or Lyrr, or Avi, or especially  _ Buir. _ Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t—”

“You betrayed us!” A crack in the facade, a tremor of sorrow, of true hurt. “You shared a table with us, you trained with us, you  _ made us love you,  _ but all this time we were just playthings to you, weren’t we? A way to amuse yourself.”

Din clenched his fists. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Jied took a deep breath and reached back, unhooking the electropole and falling into an offensive stance. “My father trusted you with his greatest secret and you threw it in his face. You, Din Djarin, have dishonored him.” Her voice went cold and flat as ice. “So as Paz Vizsla’s eldest child, I exact retribution.”

And she vanished.

Din leaped back, barely managing to draw his rifle in time to block her strike. Sparks flew as their weapons met and he grunted, kicked out but Jied sprang back, reforming in the air for just a breath before the Raven’s Shadow kicked back in and she disappeared from sight.

Then she was on him. Blow after blow, strike after brutal strike, they fought from one end of the hangar to the other. His HUD was useless to track her but her movements were predictable, fragile with blind rage and Din spun, jabbing the butt of his rifle back. It hit flesh with a solid  _ whump _ and Jied staggered with a cry, armor rippling, and Din flipped his rifle and prepared to bring it down, just enough force to stun her, to get her to  _ see some fucking sense _ before things really went south and one of them ended up dead—

She darted sideways, dodging his strike, and in the next instant a reinforced beskar boot slammed into the side of Din’s head. The world spun and the ground came roaring up, knocking the breath from his lungs, and as he lay there, dazed, Jied came up, aiming the tip of her electropole at his throat.

For a moment neither of them moved, panting as the echoes of Thalkikk continued on around them. Jied was trembling, barely keeping a hold on her weapon as she whispered, broken, “It was supposed to be you.”

Din groaned, blinking through the fuzzy pain. “J-Jied...”

“ _ Buir’shin _ ’s death broke my father’s heart,” Paz’s daughter continued, voice thick. “And then when Vena died on Alderaan...gods, Din, I thought he would just melt away with the sadness. Do you know how much it hurts, to lose your spouse and then your child? Do you know how much it costs just to get out of bed every day afterward and pretend to be okay?”

The words cracked, sending a frisson of pain through Din’s own heart as Jied looked away. “But then you came,” she whispered. “You came here and you didn’t  _ care _ about any of that, you didn’t care about his past or the scars he carried. You cared about him for  _ him _ , and being around you was healing him, giving him hope for the first time since...Jen’Issik, I can’t even remember! You  _ saved _ him, Din. He was going to try again, with you.”

Something hardened over her words then like a fresh layer of beskar, cold and angry and impenetrable. Her fingers flexed and the electropole shuddered to life, sparks dancing down its length like playful children. Jied took a deep breath.

“You were supposed to be his one,” she said. “You were supposed to match him, to love him, to finally heal his heart. But instead you broke it. So now I will break yours.”

She lifted the electropole, sparks singing. Din froze, unable to breathe. So this was it, then. Alone and beaten, soul shattered into pieces by grief and despair, this was how he died.

And then: movement. Jied slammed the electropole down—but then a large hand shot out and grabbed it, stopping the tip a mere inch from Din’s throat. Sparks seared up dark blue armor as Paz yanked the weapon from his daughter’s hands and flung it into the darkness.

In the ensuing silence, Jied gasped for breath. Din gaped. And Paz just shook out his arm, watching as the bright arcs of electricity fizzled into nothing.

“Ow,” he said.

Jied took a step forward, everything about her suddenly small and heartbreakingly young. “ _ Buir _ ...”

“Daughter.” Paz glanced briefly down at Din before indicating the hangar exit. “Go on now. Apologize to your sister.”

“I...” Jied looked slowly around the hangar as if seeing it for the first time. “I-I don’t...”

Paz sighed, stepped forward, and drew her into a tight embrace. “You did good, sweet,” he murmured, as Jied clung to him and shook. “I got it from here. Go.”

She nodded and, still looking rather dazed, wove her way slowly out the door. Paz, for his part, watched to make sure she made it before turning to look down at Din. “Well?” he grunted. “If you’re looking for a hand up you can help your own goddamned self.”

Din swallowed and staggered slowly to his feet. Everything smarted, his body a giant bruise, but somehow that hurt less than the sharpness of Paz’s voice as he said, “You’re a first-rate cunt, you know that?”

Din winced. “Paz, I...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.” Paz crossed his arms, and though he couldn’t see it Din knew he was being glared at behind that T-shaped visor. “And that sort of insult, bringing my late husband into it? By rights, I should kill you.”

Din dropped his gaze. Paz was right; Mandalorians more honorable than him had dueled to the death for less. And if he was being honest with himself, right now, crumbling and miserable, he was ready to stand there and take it if that was what Paz decided. Cara would survive the grief, and the Covert would look after his child. And then at least he wouldn’t have to live with the soul-crushing guilt of having betrayed Paz’s greatest confidence.

But then Paz just sighed, broad shoulders slumping. “Thing is, I can’t. I hate it, it’s so fucking weak, but I just...I can’t hurt someone that I.” He faltered, tripping over the words. “That I love.”

And Din lost his breath.

He stared up at Paz, who just stood there under the hangar lights, open and vulnerable. He couldn’t breathe. Had Paz just...but he...but...

And then he proceeded to open his mouth and blurt the words that, for decades afterward, would go down in Vizsla family infamy as The Stupidest Thing Din Djarin Ever Said (And That’s Saying Something): “But you  _ don’t. _ ”

Silence. A ship passed by overhead, engine coughing like a diseased beast. Some late-night vendor yelled about fresh-cooked  _ wapinga  _ legs. Somewhere in the neighboring Covert building, a Mandalorian sneezed. 

And then Paz, very slowly, cocked his head. “Excuse me?”

Din’s entire face was on fire, heat up to the tips of his ears. Still he shook his head, because after all the shit he’d been through today he deserved this, damnit, he deserved some fucking closure. “I heard you talking to Sal,” he said. “I heard what you said. That you...that you never love again after your first. That you  _ can’t _ love me, not after Kian.”

Paz stared at him. Din imagined a mouth opening and closing under that dark blue helm, and he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The truth was out there now, ugly and awful as it was. Paz didn’t love him, not when his heart belonged entirely to a man dead twenty years. And Din couldn’t compete with that. He  _ wouldn’t,  _ not when Kian had sacrificed so much to save Paz and their family.

After this, he’d walk away. He’d take the child and seek out another group of Mandalorians, or maybe he’d return to Nevarro, to Cara with her loyal heart and Greef with his awkward friendliness. But he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t continue to cause Paz pain. His heart wouldn’t survive it.

And then Paz spluttered, “Well, fuck,” and Din had no idea why, rather than sounding guilty or angry, his voice instead conveyed utter disbelief.

“Fuck.” The older Mandalorian took a step back, rubbing the back of his helm like he’d just placed a terrible bet and lost his life savings. “Oh, fuck. I thought maybe you had something else from your past or some unresolved trauma or some shit but it turns out Jied was right. You are just a giant. Fucking.  _ Idiot. _ ”

The world tilted off its axis. Din gaped as Paz threw up his hands. “Fuck. Lothir have mercy, I’m in love with the biggest fucking moron in the quadrant. Din. Are you telling me that you didn’t once think that when I said that to Sal, maybe, just maybe, I was just trying. To be.  _ Nice? _ ”

This last was delivered right in Din’s face, Paz looming over him as he jabbed a finger against his chestplate hard enough to make him stumble back. Everything swayed, nonsensical and confused, and Din swallowed. “I—I didn’t—”

“You are  _ unbelievable, _ ” Paz interrupted, half-scoff, half-snarl. “You think when I first lost Kian, I wanted someone to tell me it’s fine, I’ll move on and find someone else? You think that would’ve helped the grief? Fuck no! Back then I needed to hear that Kian was it, that I’d never have anyone else, because  _ that’s _ what made what I was feeling okay! It wasn’t true, but you don’t  _ need _ it to be true when you’re in the middle of something like mourning your goddamned spouse!”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Din wet his lips, the first warm drops of something like hope unfurling in his chest. Because yes, Paz was pissed at him, but he was also saying... “So you...you lied then. Back there, to Sal.”

“ _ Yes,  _ you fucking dick!” The older Mandalorian blew out a frustrated breath that whooshed static-filled through his modulator. “I told her what she needed to hear because  _ I’ve been there. _ But I’m not there anymore. I loved Kian, still do every single day, but that was a long time ago. I thought...I thought I’d been making that clear these last few weeks.”

And something softened in his voice then, just a hint of hesitation, of uncertainty, and Din rushed forward to grasp his wrist. “No!” he cried, emphatic though shaky, “No, you did everything right, I’m the one who...” He shook his head. “Gods, I—I love you so goddamned much, Paz, half the time I can’t even bear it, so when I thought you didn’t feel anything for me I just. I couldn’t...I...” He sighed and gave up, tipping forward to thunk his helm against Paz’s chestplate. “Gods. I am such an idiot.”

Paz hummed and shifted his arm so warm fingers could wrap around Din’s own. A solid hand came up to cup the back of his neck, tender and safe beneath his helm. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It’s not a deal breaker.”

Din chuckled at that, but didn’t lift his head. Paz shifted, strong arms coming up to wrap around him and he leaned into it with a sigh, all the chaos inside him finally settling, replaced by relief and that golden, endless love. He’d tried his damnedest to break what they’d built, but it turned out, thank the gods, Paz was strong enough for both of them. It was enough. For Din, Paz Vizsla would always be enough.

“I have to go grovel to Jied, don’t I,” he mumbled, and felt more than heard Paz’s rumbling snort.

“And to Lyrr, I think. Technically you kidnapped her.”

“She stowed away.”

“Even so.”

Din sighed. “Yeah.” Then he remembered something: a glint of metal still on the Crest, lying next to an open storage locker. “Oh. We have to go to the forge.” Shit, they’d been gone for hours. The Armorer was going to be so pissed.

“Hm.” Paz’s thumb gently stroked the back of his neck, eminently distracting. “Right now?”

...Well, if she’d waited this long, she could wait a little longer. Din relaxed into his partner, breathing in the scent of safety and home. “Maybe in a bit.”

Paz’s low laugh was everything wonderful in the world.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Permissions:** All my works, including this one, can be translated and podficced without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything else, please ask first. Thanks.


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